


Ill Met in Riften

by elspethaurilie



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Lydia backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elspethaurilie/pseuds/elspethaurilie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some pre-Dragonborn backstory on Lydia. This is actually an excerpt from my longer fiction, but I am posting it separately. If you intend to read the longer story, "Elspeth's Epic Disaster"/"The Rise of House Sigeeweald" I would not read this first. Otherwise, enjoy my little imagined history of Lydia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lydia was up and eating breakfast at the long table in Dragonsreach when Jarl Balgruuf came down, bleary-eyed and tired.   Why did he think that sneaking out to the Bannered Mare was a good idea last night?  It was never a good idea and yet, he did it anyway.  At least once a week.  He shook his head and focused on Lydia.  Her cheerfulness was apparent and although the contrast between his weariness and her energy was evident, Balgruuf was very pleased to his young housecarl in such good spirits.  It had been awhile.

“Good morning Lydia,” he said, taking a seat next to her.  “Are you ready for your trip?”

“I am my lord,” she replied.  “I am meeting Nabirye at the stables in an hour.  I only stopped by to see if there was any other business I should attend to while I am there.”

“Of course.”  He rubbed his forehead and thought for a moment.  “When you are finished with the needs of the temple, stop by Mistveil Keep and talk to Anuriel, Jarl Laila’s steward.  The Rift has had some problems, lots of bandits and such.  Offer your services.”

“I will,” she replied, smiling.

“You seem awfully happy to be leaving,” he said.  “Is life in my court really so dreadful?”

She would never admit it to Balgruuf, but she was happy to be leaving Whiterun for a spell.  But more important, this was her first official assignment as a housecarl and for that she was most excited.

“I am just happy to have a task,” she said.  “I want to be useful to you and to the hold.”

Balgruuf laughed affectionately.  “There is one other thing…” he began.  Lydia had been so serious lately, so focused and determined.  He wanted her to know she didn’t have to be, but expressing such sentiments in the confines of Dragonsreach seemed presumptuous if not inappropriate.

“What is it my lord?”

He took a deep breath and leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.  “The priest in Riften, Maramal, is a very, shall we say, moral individual.  He will talk endlessly with you about the blessings of Mara and it can be rather comforting.  But don’t take everything he says to heart, particularly about the city.  Riften is corrupt and there is lots of trouble to be made.  But for someone with a good head on her shoulders such as yours, it can be a lot of fun.  Before you come home, make sure you stop by the Black-Briar meadery and the tavern.  Or just talk a walk around Lake Honrich.  The Rift can be rather nice this time of year.”

She was a bit surprised by this directive although she probably shouldn’t have been.  Jarl Balgruuf had always taken an interest in her personal well being, ever since her mother died.  “I will do that,” she agreed.

“Good,” he said as he turned to the breakfast that his servant, Gerda, laid in front of him.  Just as he started eating, Proventus, his steward, approached them with a stack of letters and papers, which he dropped on the table, nearly knocking Lydia’s tea over.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” he said as he rifled through his papers.  Finally, he took out several and folded them into a stack together.  “Lydia, would you mind taking these missives over to Jorrvaskr on your way out this morning?”

Lydia paused for a moment; she had been avoiding the Companion’s mead hall for over a month now.  Before she could say anything, however, Balgruuf cleared his throat.  “Don’t bother Lydia with such tasks.  We’ll have someone send it over later.”

Proventus looked perplexed. “But she’ll be walking right by.”

“Proventus…” said Balgruuf quietly, but sternly as he narrowed his eyes at his puzzled steward.

 _Oh my gods, does Balgruuf know too?_   Lydia’s stomach lurched and her face flushed at the thought.  She sat up immediately.  “I’ll be happy to bring them over,” she said and took the missives from him.

She left Dragonsreach, clutching the missives nervously.  She walked slowly down the stairs and when she reached Jorrvaskr, she took several deep breaths before going inside.  The last time she was here she had come to see Vilkas, to confess feelings for him that she had been harboring for a long time.  She had been training with him for years and they had grown quite close.  Or so she thought.  When he didn’t reciprocate, she was devastated.  But she would have been simply heartbroken if that bitch Njada hadn’t been eavesdropping and told the entire drunken mead hall what she’d just heard—or rather, her version of it, which made Lydia seem far more pathetic and needy than she might have otherwise.  It had been utterly humiliating.

The mead hall was empty but for their maid Tilma, who smiled warmly at her, and Farkas, Vilkas’s twin brother.

“Lydia!” he said, his tone somehow both excited and uneasy.  “I was starting to wonder if we’d ever see you again.”

“Yeah…” she said, not quite certain how to respond.   “I just came to bring these over.”  She held Proventus’s missives out, which Farkas took.  There was a long pause in which they stood there just staring at each other awkwardly until they were interrupted by the sounds of the back doors opening and people entering the room.   Lydia didn’t wait to see who was there.  “I need to leave,” she said, as she opened the door and stepped out.

“Wait,” said Farkas as he followed her outside, bringing the awkward silence with him.

“Farkas,” she said finally.  “I really do have to go.  I’m accompanying a priestess and I need to meet her in a couple of minutes.”

He took a deep breath.  “When you come back, let’s find a grove and hunt.  Like we did when we were kids and would leave everyone else behind.”  Lydia was touched by this gesture.  Farkas was making a genuine effort to be a friend to her.  They were close when Lydia was young. Farkas took her under his wing, teaching her to hunt and track.  However, as Farkas’ attention was taken up by more and more by women closer to his age, they grew apart. They stopped doing things on their own, keeping their social interactions within the confines of Jorrvaskr and the Bannered Mare.

Lydia nodded and grinned.  “Okay,” she said as she turned and left, feeling a little less anxious as she bounced down the steps and across Whiterun to the stables.

Nabirye, the Altmer priestess, was waiting.  She had one final task to complete before she would be fully ordained in the service of Mara.  The completion of her last task had brought her to Whiterun and Lydia was to accompany her, first to Gjukar’s Monument and then to the temple in Riften.   They set out immediately by horse.  Lydia would have preferred to save some time and ride over the tundra, but Nabirye was ill prepared for what they would meet there and the road was safer.

It was late when they arrived at the monument.  They set up camp off the road and built a small fire.  As the night wore on, Lydia grew bored and tired and it was a couple of hours after midnight when Nabirye grabbed her arm and said, “She’s here!”

Lydia looked up and saw a ghostly apparition by the monument.  “Who is that?” she asked.

“That’s Ruki.  I’ve been sent her to reunite her with her hjarta, Fenrig,” she explained.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Lydia followed Nabirye across the grass to the monument, where she approached the apparition.

“What are you doing here?” asked Nabirye of the specter.

“I’m searching for my Fenrig.  He was marching with Gjukar’s men, who say they were wiped out here.”  The apparition’s voice had an ethereal quality and it echoed in Lydia’s head.  “I’ve turned over every body though and I can’t find him.”

Lydia looked around.  There were no bodies.  She thinks it’s the war, she realized.  For some reason, the notion of Ruki being stuck in time made her really uncomfortable although she wasn’t sure why.

“Please help me look.” Ruki continued talking to Nabirye.  “He has a bright red beard and hair.”

Lydia looked at Ruki and said, “The last war was here hundreds of years ago.”  She was trying to be matter-of-fact but her uneasiness was obvious.

“Are you a fool?”  The ethereal voice responded sharply.  “Look at all the bodies around you.  Even if you’re blind, surely you smell the blood!”

“Lydia,” said Nabirye, touching her arm.  “Let me take of this, please.”

She nodded apologetically and Nabirye returned to Ruki.  “We will help you find him,” she assured her.  She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.  “Divine Mara, mother goddess, handmaiden of Kyne, on this eve I ask that you gift me with your wisdom, and lead me to the path between two souls so that I might renew a bond that has been severed by darkness and violence.”  When she opened her eyes, she looked past Lydia and started walking briskly not looking around and not straying from her path.

About a mile away, in a small clearing behind a cluster of rocks, they came upon another apparition.  It was Fenrig.  Nabirye approached him.  “You’re wife is looking for you,” she said.

“Ruki,” he said.  “Where is she?”  His voice was deep and had the same ethereal quality.

“West, in the plains over in the distance,” replied Nabirye, gesturing back toward the path from which they came.

“We’re expected to fight there tomorrow. Gjukar elected to camp here tonight.  I don’t like it thought.”  The echo of his voice was tinged with trepidation and dismay.

“Come,” said Nabirye, her voice was calming.  “Let me take you to Ruki.”

“If she’s come this far from home, it must be important,” he agreed.  “Lead on.  I just need to report to camp by sunrise.”

Fenrig’s apparition followed Lydia and Nabirye back to the monument where Ruki was still moving around as if she were looking for him.  Lydia leaned over and whispered in Nabirye’s ear, “They appear to be trapped in the same moment in time.  Maybe this will work out for them after all.”

Fenrig approached his wife.  “What are you doing here, Ruki?” he asked, there was still fear in his echoing voice, but also adoration

“I’m came here to find you,” she replied.  “They said that Gjukar’s men were wiped out here.  But I can’t find you!  I can’t find you among the bodies.”

“We haven’t fought yet….”

“But the bodies!” she exclaimed.  “And the blood!  Can’t you smell the blood.”

This went on for several moments and feelings of dread filled Lydia’s heart as she listened to the couple talking past each other, their ghostly voices tinged with sadness and confusion and terror.  She grabbed Nabirye’s arm.  “They aren’t trapped in the same moment in time.  They are still apart.  You’ve got to do something.”

Nabirye took Lydia’s hand in hers.  “Just wait,” she whispered and gestured back toward the couple.  They were still talking, but their words were becoming unintelligible.  “Look!” she exclaimed quietly.

Lydia looked on as the apparitions began to lift up into the air, higher and higher.  She gasped and didn’t take her eyes away until she couldn’t distinguish the two rising spirits from the stars in the sky.

“What happened?” asked Lydia, almost breathlessly.

Nabirye smiled and patted her hand.  “They’ve gone on to the immortal plane.”  She turned and walked away from Lydia who was still staring into the sky.

“Wait a minute!” Lydia darted after the priestess.  “Wait…if he’s a warrior, he’ll go to the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde.  And she’ll go to Kyne’s fields and they’ll be separated again.  Did you bring them together just to pull them apart?”

Nabirye turned and gestured for Lydia to sit with her.  “Their souls will rest where they are meant to.”

Lydia sat down beside her.  “So, what happened tonight then?”

“A bond that was severed was mended,” she explained but Lydia still looked confused.  “Lydia, love is a journey and all journeys end.  What happens in the Aetherial plane is for other gods to decide.  If they are separated, they will rest with the peace of having completed their journey together.”  She smiled warmly.  “That is the work of Mara’s divine loving grace.”

Lydia looked down at her lap.  She wanted to understand what she saw, and also what how people like Ruki and Fenrig found each other in life.  She had so many questions, but she didn’t know where to begin.  Nabirye had been so calm and unassuming on their journey and on her quest—well, she was still calm and unassuming, but she prayed and she was filled with a power and strength and wisdom unlike any Lydia had ever seen.  It was magical and yet, there was something rather ordinary about it.

“You’ve been hurt recently?” she asked.

She looked up suddenly.  “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” she said letting out a quiet laugh.  “You’re at that age, there’s always a chance.  What happened?”

“He was a friend,” she replied.  “He paid more attention to me than other women.  We were very focused on training though.”  She thought back to all the work they had done together.  When they sparred or when he helped her adjust her fighting stance, she resisted the shudders his touch sent across her skin as well as the ache in her gutthat watching him fight often inspired.  She was always proficient and focused, and perhaps that was the problem.  She continued, “Now, I think maybe in my desire to impress him as warrior, I failed to impress him as a woman.”

“What did you want from him?”  Nabirye’s face was full of compassion.  She was the kind of woman you wanted to open your soul to, perfectly suited as a priestess of Mara.

Lydia swallowed against the lump that was growing in her throat.  Although the emotions were raw, the words were forthcoming.  “I wanted him to let me get close to him.  To break through that tough scowling guise.  That’s all.”

“That’s all?” she asked.  “When you say it like that, it makes love sound like a task, not a journey.  Didn’t you want him to love you?”

This question surprised her and she wasn’t quite certain how to respond.  “Yes…I guess so,” she stammered.  She scrunched her forehead and shook her head although it made perfect sense.  For so long she had only seen Vilkas in terms of  _letting her love him_  that she forgot that she also wanted to be loved.  For someone to take her heart into his own.

“What you need to do,” she advised, “is open your heart to the possibility of love.  Mara will guide you, but you need to let her.  And as you do that, you open yourself to the experience of—”

“Two souls coming together?”  Lydia’s voice had risen just a bit.

Nabirye grinned at Lydia’s uplifted mood.  “Souls,” she agreed and then added, a bit nonchalantly, “And other things.”

She winked at Lydia who felt flutters in her belly and a warm rush of blood rise in her face.  She let out a deep breath.  Yes, she thought.  She wanted those other things too, very much so.

Nabirye said good night and Lydia lay down on her bedroll, thinking about Vilkas.  It still hurt, but it no longer wrenched her heart in the worst possible way.  Perhaps she was starting to move on from the acute pain brought by rejection and humiliation to a dull ache that would be soothed with time.


	2. Chapter 2

**The following chapter contains poorly written depictions of romantic sexuality that may not be appropriate for readers under the age of sixteen.  Or anyone, really.**

Lydia’s mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Vilkas, Ruki and Fenrig, and Mara several days later as she lay in bed in the Temple in Riften.  She ran her fingers around the Amulet of Mara that hung from her neck, a gift from Maramal for bringing Nabirye to him.  She had retired immediately after dinner so that she wouldn’t have to endure another tirade about the corruption in Riften from Maramal.  Now, she was restless.  She needed to leave and go for a walk and so she threw on her boots and clothing and left quietly, practically sneaking out.

Outside, she scanned the city from the temple landing.  The market stalls were still open and the market was fairly crowded.  She walked across the landing and down to the cemetery, where she inspected the large monument with a single stone coffin.  Up behind Mistveil Keep she found a shrine to Talos on which she left a couple of septims.  The air was balmy and breezy, which was nice.  But the subtle smell of fish and fermented honey that permeated the air in Riften was doing little to ease her mind.  As she wandered back, she wondered if it would be inappropriate to procure a bottle of mead to drink in her room.

Back in the graveyard, she encountered a young man standing by the monument.  She wondered if the monument belonged to his family—though he didn’t look like a Nord.

“Hello!” she said cheerfully.  He had a kind face and wore the most unusual armor she had ever seen.  It was leather with lots of pockets and satchels attached and looked like something a traveling apothecary might wear to keep his ingredients organized.  She held her hand out. “My name is Lydia.”

The man looked a bit startled at first, but smiled back and took her hand.  “Hi,” he replied. “Name’s Rune.  Yeah, rune…just like you’re thinking.”

“I like that name,” she said, barely noticing Rune’s expression of disbelief.  “It reminds me of Runa, which is my aunt’s name.  She lives in Bruma, where she takes care of a young ward whose parents died in a refugee camp.”  She paused and looked intently at him.  “Is this your family’s monument?”

“In a way, I guess….” Rune smirked.  She was pretty and friendly, which he liked.  Still, he wasn’t sure what to make of her.  Normally, he was talkative but she also seemed a bit precious.  For the first time since he could recall, he did not know how to respond and soon an awkward silence settled between them.  A few moments passed and as Rune went to excuse himself, a boisterous voice interrupted him.

“You just keep thinking Skwisgaar, that’s what you’re good at!”  The comment was punctuated by a chuckle and another man dressed in armor similar to Rune’s came over, shaking his head and muttering about milk-drinking guards.

“Hey Rune.”  He clapped his friend on the arm and stopped just short of entering the monument when he realized that they weren’t alone.  He turned around, took one look at Lydia and gasped.

“Is that an amulet of Mara?” he asked as he moved toward her.  His voice was deep, a bit like Vilkas’s.  But his stride and his mannerisms were far more relaxed.

“Here we go,” mumbled Rune.  “I’m going around.  It was nice meeting you Lydia.”

But Lydia wasn’t paying attention.  Her eyes were transfixed on the one who asked about the amulet.  She swallowed nervously.  “Yes,” she said, trying desperately to steady her voice.  He had dark, soulful eyes that contrasted with rough, unshaven stubble on his face.  She held her breath as he stepped up to her and ran his fingers gingerly along the edge of the amulet.  Never in her life had anyone been so forward with her and when the tip of his finger brushed against her skin, she shuddered.

“Hello,” he said, bringing his hand down. “I’m Vipir.  What’s your name?”

“Lydia,” she said.  She was still a bit nervous, but his voice had a quiet, calming quality.

“Good evening, Lydia.”  He cocked his head slightly.  “What are you doing out here?”

“Just wandering around,” she said.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I was thinking about going to the Bee and Barb for a tankard of mead.  But I didn’t want to go alone.”

“If I go with you, you won’t be alone,” he said.  He raised his eyes and pinched his mouth into grin that made her stomach flutter and her legs quiver.  When he offered her his arm, she didn’t quite believe he was that much of a gentleman.  Rather, his grin betrayed a subtle humor in engaging this type of ritual.  She giggled as she took his arm.

The Bee and Barb was crowded and the only seats available were the stools at the counter, where they sat and talked and drank for about four hours.  Lydia did most of the talking, while he interjected with quips and amusing anecdotes.  She couldn’t recall the last time she had laughed so much.  They would have annoyed the publican, but they kept their tankards full.  Vipir couldn’t believe how much she could drink.

“I grew up and trained with the Companions,” she explained.  “After so many games of You Drink, you build up a major tolerance.”

“You drink?”

“Farkas points to you says, You. Drink.”  She paused.  Her face was flushed and her eyelids were getting a little droopy.  “And then you drink.  Farkas doesn’t think cards and dice are straightforward enough.”  She looked down.  They had been facing each other, rather than the counter, for most of the night.  But she was just now noticing that their ankles were locked.  When did that happen?

Vipir laughed.  He could see that his new friend was becoming rather inebriated and offered to walk her back to the temple.  It wasn’t how he normally ended such an evening, but everything about Lydia seemed…different and he was struck by an inexplicable desire to take things slowly, which baffled him.  Maybe Rune was influencing him more than he realized.  Back at the temple, Maramal was waiting outside by the door, which made the question of whether or not kissing her good night would be appropriate an easy one to answer.  He said good night and offered the priest a courteous nod, hoping that he wouldn’t make things terribly uncomfortable for her.

*****

Lydia packed up her things and rented a room at the Bee and Barb the next morning.  She never intended to stay at the temple—preferring to keep business with the temple and business with the court separate.  She might have stayed at the Keep, but she was struck with an overwhelming desire for more privacy.  In any case, Maramal’s disapproving glare got her up and moving before breakfast.  It bothered her at first, but her feelings of embarrassment abated as her thoughts wandered to the previous night.  She had never met anyone like Vipir before.  Initially, he reminded her of Vilkas but that didn’t last.  Vipir was so laidback.  Grinning, she recalled how he lingered over his mead, hanging on her every word.  Lydia couldn’t remember the last time she’d held anyone’s attention like that.

After settling into her room, she walked over to the Keep.  Anuriel had plenty of work and her first task was to clear out a passel of bandits who had taken over Faldar’s Tooth, an old military fort on the northwest side of Lake Honrich.  On her way to replenish her supplies, she saw Vipir and Rune as she turned the corner along the Riften’s canal level.

“Vipir!” she called as her heart started pounding in her chest.

He looked up and was astonished.  The night before, he had been struck by how pretty she was.  Now, seeing her in a full set of Skyforge steel armor, he was in awe.  “Are you heading out somewhere?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m going to clear out Faldar’s Tooth for the Jarl,” she replied.  “Do you want to come?”

Vipir paused, not quite able to recall the last time he’d had a legit job.  “All right,” he said as Rune chuckled and shook his head.

After stocking up on potions from Elgrim’s Elixirs and arrows from the Scorched Hammer, they made their way out of town, taking the path along the lakeshore.  They walked slowly and talked, this time of more personal issues like friends and family.

“My mother died when I was eight,” he said.  “I never knew my father.”  He paused and thought about what he was going to say next.  “And I’m certain that my mother didn’t know my father either.”

His friend Tonila could never understand why he bothered telling women this.  Vipir maintained that it helped him gauge their character.  To which she replied that it really only helped keep them at a safe distance.  He walked along, bracing himself for the inevitable look of disgust.  If not that, then the flinch, the thinly disguised look of revulsion from those who wanted to believe they weren’t judgmental but really couldn’t help themselves.  Somehow, that was worse.  But Lydia simply looked at him as if he’d just said he preferred green apples to red, which made him feel a little more human.  His heart leapt.

And she was beautiful.  If they hadn’t come upon Faldar’s Tooth at that moment, he would have had her right there on the shore of Lake Honrich.  Lydia crouched to survey the perimeter of the old fort.  On the west side, they found an alcove with stairs leading up and a door going into the fort.  They went up the stairs and looked carefully over the outer walls.  There were several tents set up and bandits just sort of wandering about.

Vipir took out the closest bandits from behind, sneaking and then slicing them in the gut.  The ease with which he was able to creep around the tents, slipping in and out, took her breath away.  If she hadn’t been so determined to impress him with her own skill, such stealth might have distracted her.  When the bandits on the upper level of the fort spotted them, she took aim with her bow, snagging several in rapid succession.  Vipir charged ahead, finishing them off with his sword.

When he returned, he looted some keys from what appeared to be the bandit leader and also some gold, which gave Lydia pause.

“Oh,” said Vipir.  “Does looting the dead bother you?”  He stood back from the body and looked at her intently.

“I don’t know if it’s wrong,” she said.  “It just makes me uncomfortable.”

With any other person, Vipir would have rolled his eyes and laughed.  But Lydia seemed so sweet and so honest that he held his tongue.

“Well,” he said, holding up a few coins.  “I’ll use this to buy fish from Marise Aravel.  Bolli, who runs the fishery, will get a cut of that profit.  And Bolli is one of Riften’s most generous citizens, which means that some of this money will go to the Orphanage or the Temple.”

He held his breath, hoping his rationalization worked.  If she had a problem with looting the dead, she was never going to understand his work with the guild.  However, after a few moments, she smiled and said, “I never thought of it that way.  It makes a lot of sense.”

They took the keys and unlocked the lower part of the fort, which turned out to be a series of sunken, flooded tunnels.  They moved slowly, ducking through the shadows, attacking and killing bandits one by one.  Lydia continued to admire Vipir’s stealth and swiftness, while he was astounded by her strength and control.

The tunnels led them to a prison area where the bandits were holding vicious pit wolves and in the large room at the very end of the keep, she came upon a large caged ring covered in blood and holding the bodies of two pit wolves.   It was a gambling den and the game was pit wolf fighting.  Lydia gasped.  Nature was cruel and brutal and the sight of dead animals didn’t bother her, but she was sickened by the thought of using such brutality as entertainment.

Vipir found her there, looking sorrowfully at the cage.  She was quiet toward him, not certain if she wanted to admit such feelings—although they were clear from her face.  He wasn’t a huge fan of this type of entertainment, but it didn’t bother him nearly as much.  Yet, when he saw how distressed she was, he found it so endearing it hurt.  He stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close to him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly and turned her around, smiling as her hair brushed by his cheek.

“What’s in there?” she asked, gesturing toward a locked cage bolted to the wall.

“That’s probably where bets were placed.” Vipir sauntered over and picked the lock.  “Oh my gods,” he gasped as he opened the door and entered.

“What is it?” She sidled up behind him and not so subtly grabbed his arm as she peered over his shoulder.

Inside the betting cage was an abundance of coin, gems, and jewelry.  It had been a very long time since he had ever that much wealth in one place.  “Please don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable taking this,” he said.

“Not at all,” she said.  Vipir was looking at her; his dark eyes had turned mischievous, which made her stomach flutter and twinge in eager anticipation.

After clearing the cage, they hurried back outside, where it had grown dark.  Vipir lit a torch and followed Lydia, who, rather than turning out of the fort to leave, walked toward the camping area.  She passed all the tents on the lower walls and made her way up the tallest tower, where she found the bandit chief’s quarters, which had a bed and also shelves and a desk.

Lydia wanted to spend more time with Vipir, but asking him to come back to the Bee and Barb felt awkward.  The tower living quarters gave her an idea and she whipped around, her eyes bright and excited.  “Let’s camp here,” she suggested.

Vipir grinned. “Okay,” he agreed as he removed his weapons and placed them on the desk.   After she’d done the same, she moved closer to him in a manner that was both anxious and eager.

On this excursion, he had hoped just to kiss her.  But within moments of touching his lips to hers, she was tugging at his armor.  Pushing him back a little, she removed her cuirass, her boots, and bracers, letting the metal crash to the floor.  She looked at him playfully as he marveled at her figure.  He knew from watching her fight that she was strong, but seeing the hard muscles of her stomach and arms against her soft, pale skin was like a revelation.  He removed his armor and leaned back on the bed, bringing her with him.  She straddled his hips and pressed her mouth down hard, her tongue eagerly searching for his, while he moved his hands over the arcs of her hips, up to the tops of her breasts, and then back down, exploring every curve, every line.

As she eased herself downward, he removed her underclothes and rolled her onto her back, letting his lips leave hers for mere seconds.  He lowered his mouth, gently biting her neck.  Lydia moaned softly while his eager mouth wandered down exploring and sucking the skin on her breasts, her belly—until he got to the sweetest part of her.  Soon her soft moans gave way to louder groans and cries.  He took his time, gently touching her with those intimate kisses and massaging the insides of her thighs and her belly with his strong hands.

He waited until he felt her tugging him upward and then he pulled himself forward, sliding his body to align with hers, drawing her into his arms and readying himself to take her.  But as he moved up against her, he saw her face contort from excitement to trepidation.  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, moving wisps of hair out of her face.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confessed.

Vipir didn’t need to ask if she was  _sure about this_.  Even as her face betrayed her anxiety, her hands and legs were pulling him toward her. “It might hurt,” he warned, gently kissing her ear.  “I’ll go slow.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, the look of eagerness returning to her face.

He kissed her neck and chest as he nudged her thighs open and gently edged into her, listening to her breathing softly through nervous trembling lips.  When he pushed through her tightness, she let out a choked cry as the shock of pleasure mixed with pain vibrated through her.  He moved deliberately at first and with every thrust, she whimpered and cried, all the time pulling him closer, squeezing his back, and digging her fingernails into his skin.   And as her shrieks of pain yielded to shrieks of pleasure, he sped up, driving himself vigorously into her.   She twisted her limbs around his and arched her back, urging him deeper and deeper.

They became a tangled knot of skin and sweat as she writhed beneath him.  And when she almost couldn’t take anymore, he brought her to a long, hard climax, reaching heights of pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced or could have imagined.  And as her cries of bliss sounded through the trees, he couldn’t hold back any longer; he let go, his whole body shuddering as he grunted through clenched teeth.  Panting and gulping for air, he trembled above for mere moments before collapsing beside her.  They lay there together, exhausted, their muscles still quivering.  Vipir rolled on to his side and lightly ran his hand up along her abdomen and breasts sending chills across her skin before pulling her in for a long kiss.

“Are you okay?” he whispered when he pulled away, still touching her face with the tips of his fingers.”

“Gods, yes,” she said.  She was content.  As he wrapped his arms around her, she turned to him.  “I…I didn’t expect that this would happen so fast.”  Her contentment was giving way to some nervousness.  “I don’t know what happens next,” she admitted.

Vipir thought for a moment.  Other women he’d lain with understood he was available for little more than sex.  With Lydia, however, he wanted things to be different.  “Well…we can spend the time you’re in Riften together to see if we still like each other with our clothes on,” he said, as he pushed her hair out of her face.

Lydia sighed and as he gathered her back into his arms, they nestled down under bearskin cover the where they slept soundly, wrapped in each other’s arms.

The following morning, she woke to find him looking out across the lake, standing with his arms crossed behind his head, wearing only his boots.

“Good morning,” he said, grinning at her.

“Is it time to get dressed?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.  “I just took a quick run down through the camp, to see what kind of food they had.”

“In just your boots?”  Lydia was so taken with him, almost enchanted by his carefree nature and how comfortable he seemed in his own skin.

“Sure, why not?”  He took off his boots and crawled back under the bearskin with her.  “I seldom get to walk around naked at home.”  Vipir paused for a moment, trying to imagine the reaction in the Cistern. “The people I live with wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Where do you live?”

It was such basic question but one he hadn’t prepared himself for.  Vipir had never felt ashamed of the Cistern; the guild was his family.  But suddenly, it seemed inadequate although Lydia gave him no reason to think she would disapprove.  He took a deep breath and, when he realized that she would figure it out sooner or later, said, “There is space down in the Ratway.  Some of my associates and I stay down there…not in the Vaults or the Warrens, but back by the tavern down there.”  He hoped that would make it somehow more…upright.  Still, he cringed to himself a bit although as with everything else, she seemed unfazed.

After a few moments, she looked quizzically at him.  “Your associates?  What do you do?”  The night before he had mentioned being near Whiterun for work, but he never elaborated and she forgot to ask.

Now this was the question he was not willing to answer so readily.  While Lydia could look past the circumstances of his coming into the world and his residence within it, certainly a housecarl in the court of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater would not so easily look past his occupation.  He would keep it quiet, for now.

“Well, these days we take whatever jobs we can get.  But we have some steady clients.”  He paused for a moment before continuing.  “We deliver things to them safely, I guess you could say.”  He kissed her neck.  “Tell me about your work,” he said.  “I imagine being a housecarl is more than a simple occupation.  When do you get a Thane?”

Lydia sighed.  “I can’t imagine Balgruuf ever naming a Thane,” she said.  “I mean, his brother holds the title and uses it when he’s on court business.  But Balgruuf….” She paused.  Balgruuf always perplexed her.  On some issues, he was so casual.  And on others, he was so very rigid.  “He doesn’t really hold with electing Thanes just because they do good things for the hold—everyday things.  He jokes that Idgrod will appoint you Thane for chopping firewood. “  Lydia shook her head.  “No, he wants a hero and we don’t have too many heroes in Skyrim anymore.”

“So, you just sit around Dragonsreach and wait for work?”  He grinned inwardly.  Maybe their respective occupations were not so different after all.

“Whiterun gets a lot of missionaries and dignitaries because of its location.  They often ask for companions,” she explained.  “But yes, until there is work, I will train and study.  Balgruuf has always been rather informal with me with respect to my duties.  Some people think I should take advantage of that.  But I won’t.”

Vipir was impressed by her sense of duty.  However, it also made him uncomfortable.  They had just met, but he found his thoughts wandering and wondering where someone like him could possibly fit in such a life.  Soon the doubts that had plagued him his whole life were starting to creep around.  Not wanting to think about such things, he pulled her on top of him and quashed his worries in another fit of passionate lovemaking before they walked back to Riften.

They parted at Mistveil Keep and Vipir said he would find her at the Bee and Barb later.  Back in the Ragged Flagon, Vex teased him endlessly about his newfound job as the Jarl’s lackey and refused to shut up until he showed her how much coin he’d made.  He spent the rest of the day in the Cistern practicing archery and despairing over how he could possibly manage a love affair with a housecarl.  Later, Brynjolf came by with news of a huge heist in the planning stages.  As things in his head and heart were spinning, it was comforting to know that life in the guild was the same.

Several hours passed and, after extracting himself from an argument between Rune and Cynric about which of the men would make a better pirate, he made his way over to the Bee and Barb.  When he entered the tavern, he paused just inside the door.  She was chatting with some droopy-eyed Breton in shabby robes.  He stepped back, his heart sinking a bit until he saw her craning her neck as if she were eager for someone to arrive.   Gods, it was him.  She was waiting for him to arrive.  The notion actually surprised him and he was beaming as he walked over.  He was going to figure out how to make this—whatever this was meant to be—work.

“Hello,” he said, nodding to her new acquaintance after kissing her hello.  “I see you’re making friends.”

Lydia grinned and clutched his hand.  “I make friends everywhere I go,” she explained, gesturing toward the man.  “This is Sam.”

Sam regarded them both with an affable grin.  “You both look like you can hold your liquor.  How about a friendly contest to win a staff?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Wake up! That’s right, it’s time to wake up you drunken blasphemer.”

Lydia’s head was pounding as she came around, confused and scared.  She had no idea where she was or what she had done.  All she knew was that the priestess in gold robes in front of her was livid and that she was in trouble.  Big trouble.

“Wha…what happened?  Where am I?” she asked, her voice was shaking.  Looking around, she could see that she was in a temple.  A rather messy temple—baskets and books and bottles were strewn everywhere.

“You are in the Temple of Dibella, in Markarth.  I’m guessing you don’t remember coming in here and blathering on about marriage or a goat.  Which means you don’t remember your friend losing his temper and throwing trash all over the place.”  Senna, the priestess, scowled.  “Who are you?”

Marriage?  Goat?  Markarth?  How did she get to Markarth? Lydia scrambled to her feet.  She gulped, but before she could respond, there was a crash from the other side of the temple and a man came staggering over.  It was Vipir.

“Allura!” he said.  “Oh my gods!  What did we do?”

Allura? What?  Lydia was bewildered but remained silent.  She would go along with his ruse for now.

He turned to the Senna to apologize.  “I am so sorry,” he said.  “We just got a little carried away with our friend last night.”  The priestess seemed unmoved, so he continued.  “My name is Sven and this is my wife, Allura.  I do want to apologize and make this right.  Perhaps if we cleaned the temple and made a generous donation?  Surely, Dibella would find it in her heart to forgive a simple night of debauchery.”

She continued to glower at the couple but after a few very uncomfortable moments agreed.  When she turned away, Vipir hooked his arm around Lydia’s waist. “What happened last night?” he whispered, his tone betraying a mix of confusion and amusement.  “Did we lose that drinking contest?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia’s voice was still shaking with anxiety.  “I just want to get out of here.”  She pulled away from him and immediately set about cleaning, her face red with shame and embarrassment.  She looked back at him as he put fallen barrels upright and her heart sunk a little.  Despite his affection just moments ago, she assumed he was terribly angry with her.  She couldn’t actually recall, but she was certain to have accepted the challenge for them.  She was always doing things like that—to prove she was just as capable as warriors like Vilkas and Farkas.  But that was always in the safe confines of the Bannered Mare or Jorrvaskr.

“I think we’re done here.”  Vipir sidled up behind her, which startled her.

“Vipir!” she said.  “I’m so sorry!”

Her face betrayed genuine sadness and regret, which caused Vipir to catch the laugh in his throat before he asked, “Whatever for?”

“For getting us into this…mess,” she said as she looked around the temple.

“Oh please,” he said as he put his arm around her.  “I’ve gotten in far worse messes.”  As they walked back toward the front of the temple, he handed her a note.  “Sam left this.  It looks like we gathered these ingredients to fix the staff.  I think we need to locate him figure out what is going on.”

“I don’t know,” she said.  She just wanted to go home and never touch another tankard of mead again.  “Although, we should probably find out if we trashed any other temples.”  She cringed at the thought, but it was the right thing to do.

From Senna, they learned that they had arrived last night with a friend.  They were all ranting and raving, and their voices were slurred but there was much chatter about having just arrived from Rorikstead.

Rorikstead was in Whiterun hold.  This made Lydia’s stomach lurch and she felt dizzy.  Vipir suggested going by horseback.  She was spun and just looked at him blankly, saying that she would defer to his judgment.  When he asked what was wrong, all she could do was shake her head.

Lydia spent the entire ride out of Markarth hyperventilating, while Vipir held her upright and tried to comfort her.  All attempts at consolation, however, were futile.  When they arrived in the small farming town they had barely dismounted from their horse when Ennis, a local farmer, confronted them.

“You two!  You both have a lot of nerve showing up in this town again!  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Lydia simply couldn’t speak, so Vipir took charge, attempting to simultaneously apologize and extract some information from the angry farmer.

“Sorry’s not good enough!  Not while my Gleda is still out there, alone and afraid.  You kidnapped her and sold her to that Giant!”

“What!” Lydia gasped, steadying herself against Vipir.

“What if we were to pay or retrieve the goat for you?” asked Vipir, his tone steady and persuasive.

Ennis insisted that he would never breed another prize-winning goat and soon Lydia found herself following Vipir across the tundra, eventually arriving within stone’s throwing distance of a lone giant and Gleda the goat.

“How are we going to get the goat?” she asked harshly, looking over the boulder at the ambling giant.

Vipir remained calm.  “We’ll wait until it’s dark,” he explained.  “Then I will snatch it and we’ll run back to Rorikstead.”  He leaned back against the boulder and grinned.

His carefree disposition had been what attracted Lydia to Vipir in the first place.  But as they stood there, planning to steal a goat from a giant, she wondered how she could have been so stupid.  Not knowing quite how to respond—other than to ask if he was insane—she turned and sat on the ground with her face in her hands.

“Hey,” he said as he knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder.

Lydia looked up and shook her head.  “I’ve never been in this much trouble before.”

He moved closer to her and took her in his arms.  “Come here,” he said.  “You’re not in trouble.”  She buried her face in his shoulder.  “Lydia,” he said after a few moments.  “I am not joking when I say I have been caught in worse situations.”  Good gods, he thought.  Where would he begin if she asked? “We’ll figure out what happened.  Then, we will find that Sam and punch him repeatedly until he hands over the staff we have by now rightfully earned.”

She managed a slight grin.  The overwhelming anxiety plateaued, and she let him hold her until night came and it was time to snatch the goat from the giant.   Lydia stayed behind and Vipir crept forward and quickly grabbed the animal.   Then they ran as fast as they could, not even looking back to see if they had disturbed the giant.

Back in town, Ennis was pleased to have his goat and said that the note they left when they stole it said something about repaying Ysolda in Whiterun.

“Oh gods,” Lydia’s voice croaked as her knees buckled.

“What is it?” asked Vipir, catching and holding her steady.

“I’m from Whiterun remember!” she exclaimed, as if it should have been obvious.  “I know Ysolda…oh gods, what have I done?”

“Come on,” he said and helped her on to the horse.  “We’ll get this figured out.”

On the ride to Whiterun, Lydia had all but determined that she would be thrown out of Balgruuf’s court in disgrace when they arrived.   The thought made her sick and dizzy and several times she came close to throwing up.  Vipir didn’t bother trying to console her this time.  He had never seen anyone in such a state.

She insisted on waiting until evening before entering Whiterun to avoid having to interact with anyone other than Ysolda.  It was just after ten o’clock when they slipped in and walked directly to her house.

“Hello!” she said, as she opened the door.  “Come in!  How was the wedding?”

“The wedding?  Yes of course, the wedding!” exclaimed Vipir as they entered.  He paused for a moment, thinking very carefully about what he would say next.  “It seems we have some sort of repayment to settle with you?”

“Oh yes,” she said.  “Well, I gave you that ring on credit because Lydia assured me that he was a guest of Jarl Laila’s and payment would be forthcoming.”

Upon hearing this, Lydia covered her mouth and groaned loudly as she slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

“What’s wrong with Lydia?” asked Ysolda.

“She hasn’t been feeling well all day.”  He looked back and tried give Lydia a reassuring nod, but she was staring at the ground, holding her stomach. “Listen,” he began, as he turned back to Ysolda, “it seems that our groom skipped town.  On behalf of Jarl Laila, I’ll be settling his debt with you.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, as he paid for the ring.  “I just feel terrible for his betrothed.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.  “We need to go talk to her now.”  Vipir paused again. “And I’m not even sure where we can find her.  He didn’t say anything to you when he was choosing the ring, did he?”

“Yes,” said Ysolda.  “Well, that was sort of confusing.  He kept prattling on about Morvunskar and about Witchmist Grove being a special place.  Isn’t Morvunskar an old military fort?  That seems like a strange place to have a wedding…so, maybe it’s in the grove.”  Vipir nodded in agreement.  “You know,” she added.  “If you find him and can get the ring, I will buy it back.  It’s one of my best pieces and I hate to see such a beautiful wedding ring not be worn as it was intended.”

He nodded in agreement as he thanked Ysolda and then helped the still very distressed Lydia up from the floor.

Outside, he immediately started strategizing their next move.  “I’m not so sure about this grove, but Morvunskar is an abandoned fort probably occupied by marauders or necromancers so if you don’t have spare armor, we should go back to Riften first and get yours.” He paused and furrowed his brow.  “If Sam is at the fort, he’s probably dead.”  Lydia just stared at him, so he kept talking.  “What are we doing for the night?  If you need to stay at Dragonsreach, I can get a room….” His voice trailed off and he looked uncomfortable.

“No,” she replied, her voice sounded as if she were struggling to keep it steady.  “We can both stay at my house.”  She turned and walked briskly toward the main road.

“You have a house!” exclaimed Vipir in disbelief as he hurried after her.

Inside Breezehome, Vipir was a little overwhelmed.  Suddenly, the Cistern didn’t feel somewhat inadequate—it felt wholly inadequate.  He had been in so many  _houses_ , but it had been a while since he felt like he was in someone’s home.  Before he could say anything, however, Lydia whipped around and looked at him sharply.  “How…how do you do that?” she stammered; her tone was accusatory and harsh.

“Do what?”  Vipir was starting to feel bad, like he’d done something wrong even though he was the one keeping things together for her.  With any other woman, he would have scoffed and told her to back off.  But Lydia didn’t inspire feelings of defensiveness.  She made him feel protective and patient, which was unusual and scaredhim a bit.

“How can you be so calm?”  She was astonished at how things had gone with Ysolda, but she still felt frantic and thoughts of strange groves and dungeon delving were doing little to settle her nerves.   She couldn’t get her head around his self-assurance and now it was only adding to her angst.

He thought for a moment.  In his line of work anxiety led to being caught.  Also, thievery wasn’t simply about sneaking and stealing.  The best thieves knew how to exploit their surroundings—all their surroundings, objects, conversations, and so forth—the very things he had used to handle Ennis and Ysolda.  There was also the simple fact that he had far less to lose than she did. Finally, he moved closer and took her hand.  “I know why you’re worried.  It’s just…I was an orphan and I spent most of my childhood in some sort of trouble.  And until someone has me by the neck…well, I don’t see the point of getting all worked up.”  This wasn’t a lie, but how could he possibly explain it otherwise?

She considered this for a moment and reluctantly nodded.  Her anxiety was beginning to subside.  Or maybe she was just too tired to care.

Vipir studied her carefully. Even in her distressed state, her dress rumpled from their adventure, she still looked beautiful.  “Look,” he said, “if there is one thing I know about Skyrim, it’s that there is precious little that can’t be smoothed over with coin or a favor.”  He tugged her hand, trying to gauge her feelings toward him.Her face had softened and he pulled into a warm embrace.  They stood there, holding each other for several moments until Lydia led him upstairs, where they slept for a few hours before heading out again.

Early the next morning, they rode to Witchmist Grove.  When they arrived, they found a small barricaded cabin.  Vipir surveyed the area before dismounting the horse, which he had taken to calling Pidge.  The name sounded like something out of a Loredas morning cartoon.  But Vipir had never watched Loredas morning cartoons as a child.  Not because he was an orphan, but because there are no Loredas morning cartoons in Skyrim.

The grove was beautiful, but eerie and the barricaded cabin perplexed them.  “Hello!” called Lydia, taking care not to be too loud.  After a few moments, a haggard cry sounded from the cabin.  They moved a little closer with their hands on the hilts of their weapons.  Soon an old hagraven came out.  Rather than attack, however, she held her arms out and made a beeline toward Vipir.

“Darling!” she cried out, her voice gravely and deep.  “I’ve been waiting for you to return, to consummate our love.”

Vipir’s eyes grew wide with horror and he looked back at Lydia who had covered her mouth, not sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.

“I thought Sam was the groom,” he said.  “What am I supposed to do?  I don’t want to kill a creature that isn’t hostile.”

“Then go consummate with your hjarta and get the ring so we can get out of here,” said Lydia, trying to stifle her laughter.

He glowered at her and turned back to the hagraven.  “Ah no,” he said, rather uncomfortably.  “I was hoping to get the ring back.”

“What!” bellowed the hagraven.  “You want it for that hussy Esmerelda, with the dark feathers, don’t you?  I won’t let her have you.”  When she charged, Vipir had never been so happy to have a woman attack him—for once it just made everything easier.  She scratched at his face and he ran his sword into her gut.   After he took the ring from her hand, he turned to find Lydia sitting on the ground, laughing at him.

Whatever irritation Vipir had felt before was quelled upon seeing Lydia laugh and he couldn’t help but smile as well.  “Here,” he said as he sat down beside her, “you should take this.”  He turned her hand over and placed the ring in her palm.

Lydia’s eyes grew wide.  “What!” she exclaimed, not quite certain what to make of this gesture.

Oh shit, thought Vipir.  He struggled with what to say—he didn’t want to embarrass her but he also didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

“To bring back to Ysolda,” he explained.  When he saw her face flush with embarrassment, he jumped up and pulled her with him.  Then he threw his arms around her and gave her a quick, playful kiss.  “It’s good to see you laughing,” he said.

“We still have Morvunskar,” she said, her smile turning downward.

The fort wasn’t far from the grove and they arrived just in time to meet, Keith, a Breton mage from the College of Winterhold and his Nord companion, Hunk, a mercenary—a spellsword, skilled in both combat and magic—from Kynesgrove.   Keith and Hunk had defeated the five warlocks guarding Morvunskar and Vipir, not feeling all that confident about confronting a fort full of powerful mages, also paid Hunk’s fee so they could tag along and benefit from his destruction magic prowess.  Vipir, who otherwise did not care for mercenaries, later commented that Hunk was worth every septim he was paid.  He and Keith devastated the various conjurers and sorcerers, while Lydia and Vipir watched, only occasionally pitching in with poisoned arrows.

Keith and Hunk parted after they found the books they were seeking and looted most of the fort’s supplies of unusual potions and soul gems.  Lydia and Vipir lit torches and searched amongst the collapsed walls and dark corners, but there was no sign of the droopy-eyed Breton, Sam.

As they were about to leave, they made one final pass through an open room with an elevated landing.  At the top of the steps, they saw a large glowing sphere.  They approached cautiously and when they got close, Lydia could see an ethereal tunnel and she grabbed Vipir’s hand and pulled him in, as if compelled gently by some otherworldly force.

Lydia gasped as she stepped down onto a stone path that was lit with lanterns and flanked by gentle waterfalls and autumn-turned trees.  The air was misty and cool.  Wherever they were it was peaceful and Vipir swore he could hear a lute playing in the background.   He grasped Lydia’s hand and they made their way slowly down the path.

The path opened to a small area with a table at which a group of people were drinking and eating.  Sam was there and he turned as they approached.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed.  “I was beginning to think you might not make it.”

Both Vipir and Lydia had entertained fantasies of punching Sam in the face, but the grove had a calming, dream-like effect on both of them.

“What is this place?” asked Lydia.

“I thought you might not remember your first trip here.  You had a big night.  You’ve more than earned the staff,” he said.

“We have all the things to repair it,” said Vipir as he pulled the hagraven feathers, Giant’s toe, and holy water out of his armor pockets.

“Oh, the hagraven feathers and all that?  You can throw those out.  You see…” Sam’s voice trailed off and within seconds there was an explosion of blinding purple light.  When the light faded, a tall figure dressed in full Daedric armor stood before him.  He had horns on his head and blackened and blood red skin.  Lydia and Vipir stepped back slowly, frightened but still a bit tranquil.

The Daedric figure kept talking as if nothing had changed.  “I really just needed something to encourage you to go out in the world and spread merriment.  And you did just that!  I haven’t been so entertained in at least a hundred years.”

“For a Daedra, he seems awfully chipper,” whispered Viper to Lydia, who simply clutched his hand in silence.  “Who are you?” he asked.

The Daedra narrowed his eyes and gave Vipir a knowing look.  “I am Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery.”

“Oh my gods, Sanguine!”  Lydia threw her hand over her mouth and Vipir grabbed her waist, worried that she was going to collapse.

“I know, I know!  How could I lie to you both?  Well, how could I trust you until we’d shared a few drinks?”

There was a twisted sort of logic in his words and both Vipir and Lydia found themselves nodding in agreement—or perhaps it was just the mist.

“Anyway,” he continued, “it wasn’t long before I realized that either one of you’d make a more interesting bearer of my not-quite-holy staff than this waste of flesh.”

“But why us?” asked Vipir.

“Well, let’s be honest.  I don’t always think my decisions through,” he explained.  “But,” he gestured toward Vipir, “you’re someone who can handle himself.”  He paused and looked intently at Lydia, furrowing his brow at her.  “And you! You need to lighten up a bit, eh!  Maybe a little influence from your old Uncle Sanguine can help wrench that Jarl-shaped stick from your prat, no?”

“Hey!” said Vipir, though not as harshly as he should have.  After all, the mist.

“No,” conceded Lydia.  “He’s probably right.  Everyone says that.”  She dropped her head onto Vipir’s shoulder.  “Can we go soon?”

“I will be happy to take care of that,” said Sanguine.

Everything went dark and within seconds they were back sitting at their table in the Bee and Barb.  For a moment it seemed that nothing had changed.  But Vipir was holding the staff, the infamous Sanguine Rose. Lydia still had the wedding ring in her pocket and she was wearing her spare armor.

“Come on,” she said.  “Let’s go to bed.”

They went up to her room, where Lydia removed her armor and sat on the edge of the bed with her head down.  When Vipir sat down beside, he saw that she had tears in her eyes.  His heart and stomach sunk as he prepared himself for what she was about to say.  He began to pull away from her and was surprised when she looked up and lunged toward him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him aggressively.

When they stopped, she pressed her forehead into his shoulder and sobbed.

“What is wrong?” he asked.  He was terribly confused.

Lydia looked up and took his face in her hands.  She shook her head.  “I almost lost everything.  If it hadn’t been for you, I…I can’t even say it.  I am indebted to you.”

Vipir smiled warmly at her and shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything.” He wanted to tell her that in just their short time together, she’d given him something no other woman had.  But he didn’t have the words to describe that feeling of completeness that he seemed to suddenly be dancing around.  He wasn’t there yet.  But this was the closest he had come, and all he wanted was just to keep going.


	4. Chapter 4

“A housecarl?  Have you lost your mind?”  Vipir opened his eyes to find Vex standing over his bed, sneering at him.

“Good afternoon, Vex.  How nice to see you,” he replied, smirking back at her.

“I’m serious,” she said, her irritation was obvious.  Vex was baffled that Bryn and Delvin weren’t more concerned that Vipir was fucking a housecarl.  They seemed to think this one would be gone soon, like all the women who traipsed in and out of his bed.  Vex didn’t disagree.  But a spurned housecarl could make trouble  _for the entire guild_.  In any case, she was determined to give him a hard time; at least then no one could say he wasn’t warned.  “Which court?” she asked.

“She lives in Whiterun,” he replied although he wasn’t sure why he was telling Vex anything.  What he did on his own time wasn’t any of her business.  And jobs were so few and far between these days; he had a lot of his own time.  He checked in with Delvin every other day or so at the Flagon, but this was the longest he’d spent in the Cistern in weeks.  He spent every night with Lydia at the Bee and Barb and during the day he tagged along on whatever task the Jarl sent her.

“Whiterun!” she exclaimed.  “One of Balgruuf’s?  Again, have you gone insane?  At the very least you could have gotten yourself someone from The Pale or Hjaalmarch.  They’re so gods damn poor, they’re corruptible.” He didn’t respond and she continued to scowl as she turned away.  “Maybe you can talk some sense into him,” she said to Rune, who had approached just moments before.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” he said.  Rune sat down at the bottom of Vipir’s bed.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d left us for the tundra.”

“No…I may soon though,” he said gesturing toward where Vex had wandered to indicate his annoyance.  “Did you do that favor I asked when you were in Whiterun?”

“I did.”  Rune paused for a moment.  “It didn’t seem right, using a protection symbol for someone who isn’t officially under the protection of the guild.  So, I marked it empty.  That should keep people away.”

“I appreciate that.”  Vipir tilted his head toward his friend in thanks and then looked up to the ceiling, knowing what was coming next.

“Have you told her yet?” he asked, his tone was serious—almost severe.  Rune was the only person in the guild who was genuinely concerned about Vipir’s relationship with Lydia.  Of course, he was the only one really knew the depth and intensity of his feelings for her.

“No,” he said curtly, but as soon as the word left his mouth, his face softened.  Try as he might, Vipir couldn’t bring himself to be irritated with Rune.  On one of his stops by the Flagon to see about work, he wound up pouring heart out to the man over too many tankards of mead.  At least Rune, unlike Vex, understood where he was coming from.

“You said you would.  Why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s not enough I tell her what I do for a living.  She’s going to want to know if I plan to keep doing it.”  He considered his next statement very carefully, realizing that Rune was one of the few men he could trust with it.  “And I’m not quite certain how I am going to answer that.”

Rune’s eyes grew wide.  He leaned over and asked quietly, “Are you seriously thinking of quitting?”

“I’m considering everything,” he said, pressing his palms to his forehead.  “I haven’t decided anything so I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

Rune nodded although he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.   Thieves were thieves for life—usually because there were few other jobs for individuals with their particular skill set.  Still, the guild was a tight group.  Such a decision would not simply involve moving from an illicit occupation to a legitimate one—Vipir would be leaving his closest friends and mentors, the only family he’d ever really known.

“Besides,” continued Vipir.  “I need to be focused on this Falkreath job.  I’ll tell her after that.”  In fact, the only reason he was hanging around was because of the job.  Brynjolf had found him in the Bee and Barb that morning to let him know that some things had changed and to come to the tavern later.  He had also hoped to have a gander at this Lydia, but she was at Mistveil Keep at the time.

Rune had a feeling he would find another excuse to put it off, but there was nothing more he could say.  The two of them walked over to the tavern, where they joined Brynjolf and Delvin.  Brynjolf went over the new details of the heist, important points but standard as far as jobs of this sort went.  What was remarkable, however, was the sheer amount of wealth and clients they would acquire on this job alone.  One of Cyrodill’s wealthiest nobles bought Lakeview Manor and Delvin had on good authority that he brought half of his art collection, a trove of rare and expensive pieces for which Delvin already had buyers lining up.

“We won’t be grovelin’ for work after this,” said Delvin.  “And even by my most conservative estimates, you could live comfortably on your individual cuts for a while.”

 _Lydia and I could live comfortably_ ….Vipir found his thoughts wandering again, thoughts he had no business entertaining, and yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Vipir!” Brynjolf’s voice jerked him back to reality.  “Is there anything you need for this job?”  He hadn’t even noticed that Delvin and Rune had left.

Vipir shook his head while Brynjolf looked intently at him.  Vipir had always been one of the guild’s most laidback members, but he hadn’t seen the man this content since…well, suffice to say he had never seen him this content.

“This housecarl of yours must be a fiend in the sack,” he said, grinning.  Vipir looked at him sharply, but within moments, his face cracked and he laughed.  He took another sip of his mead and leaned forward, resting one arm on the table and clutching the tankard with his other hand.

“Yeah,” he said finally.  “She’s…great.”  His tone was intended to be firm, keeping his emotions in check, but his lips twitched, like a little kid trying to hold back a giggle in the temple.  He was thinking about a story she told this morning and without realizing it, he was beaming into his cup.

Brynjolf couldn’t believe what he was seeing and he leaned in closer, as if inspecting the man for clues.  “Good gods lad…are you in love with her?”

Vipir looked at him.  He and Brynjolf went way back.  He was the one who brought him into the guild and taught him everything he knew.  He was a good mentor and friend.  Vipir trusted him as much as he could anyone, though had never intended to confide this—at least not so soon.  After a few awkward moments, he took a deep breath and said, “I think so.”

Shor’s bones, he thought.  How on Nirn did Vipir lose his heart to a housecarl?  He supposed it didn’t actually matter now; he couldn’t exactly scold the man for finding a good woman.  Still…a housecarl?  That could be trouble.  Or not, depending on how Vipir conducted himself.  “I just need you to stay sharp,” he said finally.

Vipir nodded.  “You don’t need to worry about that.”  And it was true **;** he was distracted but on a job, he was always focused.He stood up and waved good-bye as he walked back through the Cistern and out into the graveyard, the very spot where he’d met Lydia just about a month before.  So much had happened and so quickly.  And even if he could slow things down, he supposed he couldn’t delay the inevitable conversation—either a confession that would send her running or a decision that would show her that he was actually worthy of her.  He still didn’t know.  Falkreath would buy him some time and set him up nicely, should he decide he was ready to move on from the guild.  That thought, however, did not sit well with him at all.  Of course, neither did losing her.  As he approached the Bee and Barb, he found himself tense and frustrated and he stood outside just long enough to shake it off.  There was no need to bring it with him.

Up in her room, he found Lydia lying on the bed looking absolutely miserable.  “What’s the matter?” he asked as he lay down beside her.

“I need to go home soon,” she explained.  “Anuriel says that the bandits around the hold are well under control.  They’ve no need for my services anymore.”  Her eyes filled with tears.  She knew this day would come; she just had no idea it would feel so terrible.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I just don’t want this to be over.”

Vipir took her face in his hands and wiped her tears away.  “It’s not over,” he said, kissing her.  “When do you have to leave?”

“I told Anuriel I would head up to Shor’s Stone and take care of some spiders in Redbelly Mine tomorrow.  After that I can stay for another day or so,” she said.

“Good,” he said. He didn’t want to think about it right now, but he wouldn’t disregard her feelings either.  “I’m going to Falkreath tomorrow.  I’ll be back the following evening and when I come back, I’ll settle up with my associates and bring you back to Whiterun.”  As she smiled and nodded at this, he brought her closer and gently kissed, first her neck, then her ear.  He ran his fingertips along her cheek before bringing his hands down and slowly removing her clothes.  After that he drew everything out, prolonging every touch.  Offering such tenderness made him feel vulnerable, but that is what he wanted, what he needed to do for her.  And she received him so passionately—he was shocked that something so soft and gentle could be so intense.  This was the moment he wanted to preserve forever, without the passing of time and the pressure of responsibility dragging them apart.  He was still inside her when he brought his lips to her ear.  “I love you,” he whispered.

Lydia’s eyes widened and when she paused, Vipir’s heart seized in his chest until she responded in kind, “I love you, too.”

He couldn’t lose her.  As she slept, her beautiful naked body draped over his, he stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what kind of life he might lead with her, living in Breezehome.  When he remembered that Whiterun still needed a fence, he nearly leapt out of bed in excitement thinking perhaps he could combine legitimate sales with occasional guild sales, just as some of the caravans did.  But he was a pickpocket, not a merchant, and you really couldn’t just open a store in someone’s home.  There were permits and taxes and other things he didn’t understand.  No, he would have to find regular work.  Not only to earn his keep, but for something to do while she was on the road.   He wasn’t sure what sort of occupation he would find himself in.  He was only certain of one thing.  He was leaving the guild.

*****

Vipir left before sunrise on Middas, promising he would return Fredas evening by dinnertime.  When he didn’t, Lydia was disappointed but not concerned.  But when he hadn’t returned by Loredas evening, she was worried.  After staying up all night imagining deadly bandits and mauraders on the road to Falkreath, she set out for the Ratway early Sundas morning—sick with exhaustion and fear.

The Ratway, she’d heard, was a horrible place and she approached the entrance with trepidation.  She had no idea what to expect or even how to find this place, the Ragged Flagon, where she knew Vipir had friends and associates.  She peered through the bars but before she could open the gate, a strong arm grabbed and jerked her around.

“You set us up, didn’t you?”  It was Rune and he was furious.

“What…?” asked Lydia. “Where is Vipir?  He was supposed to be home Fredas evening.”  Her voice was shaking and Rune watched as her face started to break.

“You don’t…know?” Rune’s anger was giving way to confusion.

“Know what?  Rune, what is going on?”  Her voice cracked as tears filled and fell from her eyes.  She was terrified and even more confused than he was.

Rune shook his head and tried to get his thoughts together.  Vex was wrong.  Lydia couldn’t be involved in this.  No one with the nerve to take on the guild would be stupid enough to hang around Riften soon after.  They may not have the influence they once had, but the guild still had muscle.  Rune stopped for a moment and thanked the Eight Divines he had found her before she had gone into the Ratway.  If she’d gone to the Flagon and Mercer had gotten a hold of her—he choked and forced the thought out of his mind.

He took a deep breath.  “Lydia, Vipir needs your help.  He’s in Falkreath Jail.”

Lydia felt her body grow cold.  “What!” she gasped.  “I…I don’t understand.”

“All right,” said Rune.  “Look, Vipir’s in the Thieves Guild.  We had a huge heist on Middas and something went wrong.  Very wrong and now he’s in jail.  And no one in the guild can get close enough to break him out or even pay the gods damn fine.”

Lydia couldn’t believe what she was hearing.   She was overwhelmed with feelings of dread and confusion and could barely remember telling Rune she would ride to Falkreath.  She hurried back to the Bee and Barb and packed all her belongings before heading to the stables to catch a carriage out.  The ride felt like the longest she had ever taken.  All she could do was try to get her mind around what Rune had told her.  Vipir.  A thief.  In the Thieves Guild.  In jail.  During the ride her emotions ran the gamut of sadness, anger, and humiliation—over and over.

By the time she’d arrived in Falkreath, she realized that it was his cunning that had kept her out of trouble the night they fell into Sanguine’s little game and for that she still owed him.  Not wanting to be indebted to a criminal for the rest of her life, she decided to pay his fine and walk away.  Balgruuf would eventually find out.  When she returned to Dragonsreach, she would tell her Jarl that Vipir saved her life in Faldar’s Tooth.  Or something.  More lies, but she didn’t think the truth would go over so well.

It was late when she arrived in Falkreath and she hurried over to the Jarl’s Longhouse.  Jarl Siddgier was lounging in his throne when Lydia approached.  The thought of requesting information on a prisoner was wrecking her nerves and she could barely speak.

“Speak up!” he demanded.

“Jarl Siddgier,” she began.  “I am Lydia of Whiterun, a housecarl of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.   I’ve come here seeking information about a—”

“Information?”  His tone was derisive.  “I demand tribute before you can go about demanding information from me.”

“Tribute?  I have money,” she said.  His request perplexed her; housecarls didn’t usually bring tribute.  And it certainly wasn’t  _mandatory_  when seeking counsel.

“How about drink?” he replied.  “None of that local piss. Real Black-Briar Reserve, fresh from Riften.”  He looked at her smugly.  “Now, off with you.   Bring me a bottle and I will consider your request.”

Frustrated, Lydia turned around and left the hall.  She couldn’t go all the way back to Riften just for mead.  Maybe she could bribe a guard.  As she stood there considering her options, she heard someone say her name.

“Lydia?”  It was an Altmer woman.  Lydia didn’t recognize her but before she could ask, the woman continued.  “I’m Nenya, Jarl Deng—excuse me, Jarl Siddgier’s steward.  You said you are a housecarl in Jarl Balgruuf’s court?”

“Yes,” said Lydia.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Lydia swallowed against the tightness in her throat.  “Yes,” she said.  “I came here looking for information about…about a prisoner,” she stammered.  “His name is Vipir.”

Nenya thought for a moment.  “We haven’t brought anyone in by that name.”

“What about Sven?”

“Yes,” she said.  “He was brought in early Turdas morning.  Do you know him?”

“He is…um, was, a friend,” explained Lydia.  Her face had fallen completely and her voice was raw.  “I said that I would check on him as a favor.  And ask about his fine.”

“Come with me,” she said.  “I will let you see him.  And we can discuss his fine.”  On the way to the barracks that housed Falkreath’s jail, Nenya explained that Vipir was being charged with everything the Jarl could throw at him and would get stacked sentences.  He would be in jail for close to a year, taking the fall for everyone involved in the heist.  “If I may speak frankly,” she said.  “Jarl Siddgier wants to appear tough as he start his reign.  I think he’s making your friend an example.”  Nenya spoke as if she didn’t have much faith in Siddgier’s judgment.  “But, he cannot go outside of the law.  If the fine is paid, he can go free.”

When they entered the jail, Lydia gasped.  She could see Vipir lying in a cell, his bent arm covering his face.

They stood back near the entrance, out of sight of the cellblock.  “Balgruuf will be informed if I pay the fine, correct?” she asked quietly.

“There are ways around that,” said Nenya.  When she saw the perplexed look on Lydia’s face, she explained.  “As we transition from Dengier to Siddgier’s court, we—well, I am going to be relying on Balgruuf’s counsel and resources.  I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if we kept the record between us clean for now.”

Lydia nodded and looked back over toward the cell.  Before she approached, she took a deep breath and bit her lip.  Her step was so soft that he didn’t know she was standing there until she cleared her throat.

“Lydia! Oh gods,” he cried as he scrambled to his feet.  “Lydia, I am so—”

“Don’t!” she croaked, her lip was trembling as warm tears streamed down her cheeks.  She looked at him clutching the bars of the cell door above his head as he stared back out at her.  He was pale and haggard and his dark eyes were so full of sadness it wrenched her heart. She had gone into the jail thinking she would see him for the hardened criminal that he really was.  But, she didn’t.  She only saw Vipir.  And she still wanted him.  He was the cause of all her grief and yet she wanted him to be the one to take her in his arms and make it all go away.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, she approached his cell slowly.  She knew she shouldn’t but she wanted to touch him so much it hurt.  Ignoring all her intuition and good sense, she put her hand up to his and leaned against the cell bars until their foreheads touched.  “Why didn’t you tell me,” she asked.

He let out an uncomfortable laugh.  “Would you have paid any attention to me then?”  When she didn’t respond, he cautiously wrapped his fingers around hers and gently squeezed her hand.  “Lydia,” he began, “I really need that favor now.”  His deep, quiet voice tugged at her heart.

She closed her eyes.  “We can’t be together,” she said, her voice shaking.  She felt his head nod as it pressed against hers.  But she wasn’t saying it for his sake.   Every part of her ached for him and she knew exactly what was going to happen if she let him out.  They would fight and then she would give in.  She would let him back into her arms, her heart, her soul…her bed.  They would walk together, probably as far as Helgen.  And then, after a night of too much sex and juniper-berry mead, they would part.  Duty would find her and she would bury her grief in work.  And Vipir?  She could only imagine that another woman would find him and he would bury his grief—or whatever he felt—in her naked, writhing body.  Lydia practically choked on this thought.

Lydia pulled away from the cell as Nenya approached her carefully.  “What do you want to do?” she asked quietly.

Her sadness was giving way to anger again—a kind of jealous and resentful fury she had never felt before.  She wanted him, she couldn’t have him, and for that she would punish him.  She looked at Vipir’s sad, pleading eyes and glared at him.   “Let him…gods, let him rot,” she said, turning away.

“FUCK! LYDIA!” Vipir screamed.  He punched the cell so hard she heard his knuckes crack.  His angry bellows sounded through the barracks as they left.

Outside Lydia collapsed on her knees and sobbed until she gagged.  Nenya took pity on the young housecarl, helped her up and brought her inside.   Lydia spent the night sitting upright in the bed the steward prepared for her and she left the next morning before anyone could see her.

During the long walk back to Whiterun, she spoke only when absolutely necessary: to ask for food, to rent a room, and to curse Mara as she tossed her amulet into the river where it would never taunt or tempt her again.  She cried until Helgen, raged until Riverwood, and when she arrived at the gates of Whiterun, she had resigned herself to a life of work and duty.


End file.
